


Dropping Hairpins

by moonflowers



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Dirty Alleyway Handjobs, Drinking, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jimmy realises some things, M/M, This plot is slightly tenuous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4864328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Determined to make the most of a rare night off in London, Jimmy accompanies Thomas to a bar frequented by men 'of his sort.' The only trouble is, Jimmy seems to attract quite a bit of unwanted attention, so Thomas does the only thing he can think of to put them off. Yep that's right, this is a pretending to be a couple AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dropping Hairpins

**Author's Note:**

> For trope day of Thommy week - obviously I chose fake relationship. As with day one, I'm a big fat cheater and have posted something I wrote ages ago, but never got around to putting up. Set some time around the S4 CS, while everybody's in London.

A bloke had just touched his bum. The _nerve_ of him, as though it were the most casual thing to do in all the world. But then maybe it was in places like this, how was he meant to know? It wasn’t like he’d ever been somewhere like it before. And it wasn’t just an accidental brush neither, but an unmistakable squeeze – the entire palm of his hand over the left side of Jimmy’s bottom, fingers curling under his cheek for far too long a moment. The phantom pressure of the touch lingered, making him shift his weight uncomfortably. He was starting to wish he’d gone with Thomas up to the bar – he’d already had to turn away two blokes who’d asked if they could buy him a drink. Jimmy was so busy feeling scandalised over his unknown groper, that he didn’t notice the approach of another suitor before it was too late. 

“Good evening.”

“No,” Jimmy said flatly before the man could get another word out.

“I beg your pardon?” the man raised a thin eyebrow.

“I’m not interested.” He glanced again to the bar, wishing Thomas would hurry up. Jimmy could take care of himself just fine, but he’d feel a little more at ease if the other man were with him.

“My, aren’t we full of ourselves?” the man gave him an appraising look up and down. “Then, I suppose I would be too, if I had a face like yours. But there’s no need to be so rude about it, you know.” Jimmy said nothing further, but stared the man down until he finally shrugged his shoulders in a needlessly dramatic way, and slinked off towards the bathroom. “Find me later if you decide you’re feeling more polite.” Jimmy was still blinking after him when Thomas came back with their drinks. Honestly, these blokes were just as bad as the girls. 

“Lord, Thomas, what took you so long?” he took his drink from Thomas and took a large swallow before he could even answer.

“I was only a minute or two.”

“It felt like you were gone forever.” 

“What?” Thomas’ face softened ever so slightly, like it sometimes did when Jimmy had said something particularly sincere or well-meaning. Jimmy rather liked that face, though he’d be damned if he’d ever say it out loud. 

“Blokes keep trying to chat me up. I don’t much care for it.” He knew what he was about, and he’d offered freely to go with Thomas to a bar for men of his ‘persuasion’ – he could hardly let his friend go drinking by himself on one of their rare nights off during the family’s season in London – but he hadn’t even considered that others might think he was… you know. _Like them._

“Oh,” the softness was gone, stuffed back behind a tight smile. “Well, I’m sorry Jimmy, but what did you expect? You’re a new face,” he took a healthy swig of his drink, “fresh meat, and all.”

Jimmy grimaced. “As long as they realise I’m not on the menu.” 

“Look Jimmy, we can go back home if you’d like. I shouldn’t have brought you here.” He shook his head, “I know how you feel about blokes like me, and I – “ he sighed and looked down at his drink, obviously a little irritated with Jimmy, for inviting himself along and then complaining about it. “I did tell you I’d come on me own, you know.”

“And I told you I’m not letting any mate of mine go drinking all on his lonesome.” It had never really occurred to him that Thomas might be going with something other than a drink or two in mind, or rather it had, briefly, and somehow the thought made him all the more determined to accompany him. Jimmy enjoyed the evenings they spent at Downton, even the mundane things like playing cards or having a chat, and he was loathe to sacrifice the time they usually spent together because Thomas didn’t think he could manage an evening in a stuffy bar full of blokes who wanted to get their leg over. “I know what I’m about, Thomas. I think I can handle it.” 

“Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Thomas said, though he still didn’t look convinced. “We’ll stay a bit longer, if you insist. But don’t you go saying I didn’t warn you.”

“Fair enough. I want us to have a good night, you know? I know – I know it must be hard for you to meet blokes and stuff…” against his will, his face got hotter and his ears burned, “and that’s fine. I just wish they’d leave me be, is all.” It wasn’t fine really. The thought of Thomas going off with one of these blokes was an unpleasant one, though not in the general idea so much as the specifics. Thomas was too god for any of them.

Thomas narrowed his eyes in thought, a face Jimmy had noticed him making before, usually just before he cornered Miss Baxter into a whispered conversation of veiled meaning. He was plotting. “I think I know a way to make them stop, if you’re really determined to stay. Although I don’t think you’ll like it much.”

“I don’t care, just do it,” said Jimmy flippantly, knocking back the remainder of his drink and glaring at a bloke who was eyeing him from next to a potted fern. “Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, you heard.”

“Alright. Just – don’t punch me.”

“Why, what are you – “ the rest of Jimmy’s sentence was made redundant when he felt Thomas’ arm reach across his back, hand curling possessively around his middle, just above his hip. Their bodies were aligned from shoulder, to hip, to thigh. His mouth fell slack in surprise, but the rest of his body tensed up, torn between going along with his mad idea, and shoving Thomas away and getting the heck out of there, promise be damned. 

“Try to relax a little,” Thomas said out the side if his mouth, irritated, and so close to his ear that Jimmy couldn’t help but flinch, “or no one’ll be convinced, and we may as well just go home. It’s not too late, if you – “

“No,” Jimmy took a deep breath and relaxed into Thomas’ grip. Thomas had been there for him countless times, and Jimmy would bloody well pay him back somehow, even if it was just lasting the night in this bloody lavender club. His outrage ebbed further as he noticed one of the blokes who’d been eyeing him up had already flitted off somewhere else. “I can do it.”

“Then stop looking as though somebody’s just pissed on your chips.”

Jimmy was about to retort when the bloke who’d tried it on with him a minute ago walked past again, headed back to the bar. Once again casting an appreciative eye over Jimmy, he did a noticeable double take when he saw Thomas holding him close as they leant back against the gaudily papered wall. 

“Oh darling, you should have said you were taken!” he rolled his eyes. “I might have left you alone then. Your fellow doesn’t look inclined to sharing,” he added in an overly loud stage whisper. 

Jimmy felt Thomas straighten up next to him, and glanced up to see him making that face – his most dangerous one, close to a smile with all manner of threat lurking just under the surface. He liked that face too. “You’re right. I’m not,” he said, soft and menacing, and tightened his hand at Jimmy’s waist. The man’s eyes flicked down to follow the movement.

However, he mostly seemed to ignore Thomas’ sharp words, and instead tutted and carried on his way. “Message received. You know, there’s no need to be so dramatic about it.” 

Thomas glared after him until he’d mingled back into the crowd, then looked down to Jimmy, keeping his arm where it was. “Sorry – look, we really can leave if you want. If this place is full of tossers like him tonight, I’d rather not be here anyway.”

“Oh would you give it a rest, hmm? I said I don’t mind staying for a bit, and I mean it. Might as well make the best of it and enjoy a night out, eh?” He was just being there for his pal, that was all. Because that’s what they were – mates, best mates, really – and if that meant he had to spend the evening with Thomas’ arm around him, nose full of his cologne, then that was just fine. The idea of it didn’t bother him as much as it maybe should have, but he was unwilling to dwell on that for the moment, in favour of getting good and tight. 

“…Alright.”

“Good.” He was about to suggest they get another drink, when a slightly harried looking waiter came over. 

“Excuse me, Mr Barrow?”

Thomas’ eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion. “Who’s asking?”

“The gentleman at the table in the corner,” he gestured behind him, where indeed a large, richly dressed man was waving in their direction, “requests your presence. And that of your companion.”

“Oh does he now…” Thomas frowned over at the dim corner.

“Yes, sir. And he would also like me to tell you that the drinks are on him.”

Well, the promise of free drinks certainly made up Jimmy’s mind, even if Thomas was sceptical. “Come on then Mr Barrow,” he said, feeling suddenly a lot more optimistic about the evening, as he started off towards the table – at least sitting in the corner would keep them out of the line of sight of the bloke next to the potted fern that was still eying Jimmy up, “it’d be rude not to accept.” 

“Well you’ve certainly changed your tune,” Thomas muttered as he followed, weaving through the crowd. “Just don’t go dropping any hairpins without meaning to.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Thomas my dear boy!” the gentleman who’d invited them over stood as they approached. Jimmy noticed Thomas’ lips press into a thin line at the use of his forename as he shook hands with the stranger.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Oh come now, none of that, not here of all places,” the man beamed and shook his head, flyaway grey hair flopping over his eyes. “It’s Samuel. And who might your charming young friend be? I’ve not seen him in these parts before.”

_Of course you bloody haven’t,_ Jimmy mentally huffed, before remembering the promise of free drinks, and shook the bloke’s hand. “Jimmy Kent,” he managed to dredge up his most winning smile, but chose to leave out his habitual ‘at your service,’ he usually would when making an acquaintance. 

“Charmed,” said the man – Samuel – as he wedged himself and his rather large belly back into the booth. He introduced them to the rest of the table’s occupants: there was Samuel’s partner Jonathan – a lean man with an easy smile some years his junior, a well built man drinking something very green whose name Jimmy missed, and a heavily made-up woman called Hetty, who on closer inspection appeared to have an Adam’s apple. “Everyone,” he boomed, “this is Thomas and Jimmy. Thomas here is an old flame of the Duke of Crowborough’s. I met him… oh let me think, it must be over a decade ago now, the pair of them spent rather a lot of time here that summer, if I recall. Ah, what a wonderful season it was…” 

Jimmy raised an eyebrow at Thomas, who looked decidedly awkward about Samuel’s recollections of his past. An affair with a Duke, eh? He’d heard a rumour or two, but he’d never actually given them much thought. Well that was certainly something to ask him about later. A waiter appeared then, smoothly depositing an ice bucket with two bottles of something in it, and Jimmy was suitably distracted.

“Champagne!” Samuel clapped his hands, “splendid. It’s not a proper night on the town without a bottle or two, eh?” The waiter poured them each a glass, then left them to fend for themselves. Thomas drank his rather quickly, Jimmy noticed. But Samuel was right behind him, already pink face even more so as he sloshed more of the stuff into everyone’s glasses. 

Whether it was the drink, the surroundings, or whether it was just how these blokes always behaved, Jimmy’d never heard such continuous and thinly veiled bawdy chat in his life. And he’d heard a lot mind – paying visits to the pub and the betting parlour and the like, even the sodding trenches. Some of the stuff they came out with was enough to make him blush, and there were some instances where he had absolutely no idea what they were on about, though he was hardly about to ask. What caught him most off guard though, was when Thomas actually joined in. Of course, he and Jimmy were mates; they had a laugh and such, but Thomas always changed the subject if their ribbing turned to something more risqué. Jimmy supposed it was to spare him any awkwardness. With that in mind, it was rather a shock to hear some of the things that left Thomas’ mouth when he was chatting with the other blokes. It was funny to hear such lewd things fall from Thomas’ lips, when he was often so careful of what he said around Jimmy. After the initial surprise, Jimmy thought he rather liked it.

“Speaking of which,” Samuel said, looking with a leer in Jimmy’s direction, and he realised he had absolutely no idea what they’d just been talking about, “you’ve also done rather well for yourself, Thomas.”

“Well, I – “ Thomas sputtered, and Jimmy would have laughed if it weren’t so mortifying for him too.

“Mm,” Hetty hummed in agreement. “Where on earth did you find him? He is rather lovely.” She puffed languidly on a cigarillo, “though a little short for my taste.”

Jimmy was still trying to form a sharp comeback, irritated that they were talking about him as though he weren’t even there, when Samuel cut back in. “Don’t be rude, Hetty dear. He’s a handsome lad indeed.”

“A wonder between the sheets, I’d wager,” Hetty said smoothly, arching a perfectly pencilled eyebrow at him in challenge. It was as though she could sense his discomfort and goaded him further. He felt Thomas tense beside him. Well, she could try all she might, Jimmy refused to take the bait. 

He tilted his chin up, unconsciously mirroring one of Thomas’ mannerisms when he was building up to a fight, “I’ve never had any complaints.” Well, it was the truth, technically. To be honest he’d not had much of anything, but now was far from the time or place to be admitting that. He might have been play acting being lavender, but that didn’t mean he had to let them walk all over him.

“Touché,” said Jonathan, before Hetty could reply. “Samuel, my glass appears to be empty.”

“Good Lord,” bellowed Samuel, as though he’d just announced the world was coming to an end, “is it? Well, we can’t have that.”

As the talk turned back to things more trivial, Jimmy wondered if he should maybe at some point clarify that he was not in fact Thomas’ lover, but it seemed far too late to find a way to do so that didn’t sound completely idiotic. Also, the old bloke had just bought in another two bottles of champagne, so…

An hour later, and everyone was noticeably more giddy. Except for Samuel, who remained perfectly poised, though perhaps a little louder. Thomas’ face was flushed, a band of colour high across his usually pale cheeks. Jimmy wanted to touch it, to see if his skin was as warm as it looked. The tension had drained from his body as he leant back against the plush seat, one arm draped along the back and ever so close to Jimmy’s head. Jimmy realised he’d never seen Thomas properly drunk before. They’d had the odd drink at the pub or secretly in one of their rooms, but never as much as they’d had tonight. It was nice, actually, to see him so carefree. 

“Thomas, darling,” Hetty rose to her feet, “won’t you dance with me? Clive here has two left feet, and it’s awfully hard to find a partner tall enough to dance with me properly.” She shot Jimmy a look, “if I have your Mr Kent’s permission, of course.”

“Jimmy…?” Thomas glanced at him worriedly, a look which clearly read ‘will you be alright?’

“He’s a wonderful dancer,” said Jimmy to set his mind at rest, though he’d never actually seen the under butler dance. There’d been the servant’s ball of course, but that was during the time they weren’t speaking and Jimmy had determinedly looked the other way when he took to the floor. It was just a suspicion he had, and he didn’t want to let Hetty win, the old bag. 

“Well, you heard the man,” Thomas stood up, “and I’ll push your big arse around the dance floor to prove it.” 

“Mr Barrow, I’m scandalised…”

They moved off into the crowd, the silver beads of Hetty’s dress catching and throwing dots of light. The man with the green drink had disappeared at some point during the proceedings, and Samuel and Jonathan were now whispering and giggling across the table. Jimmy was surprised he was at all capable of whispering. Instead, he sloppily poured himself another drink, and took to watching Thomas and Hetty dance. Well, Thomas anyway – Hetty just got in the way. He observed Thomas move with a strange fascination. It turned out he was a good dancer after all, even when he was tight as heck. His perfected servants’ posture carried over into his dancing, back straight and shoulders up, chest out. He was masculine, unquestionably so, and yet elegant – how in the hell did he do that? Jimmy may have had many talents, but he could never move with such grace as Thomas seemed able. He heard a bloke nearby make some comment about in passing about Thomas’ good looks, and Jimmy was inclined to agree. Quite frankly, he was gorgeous. But then, he’d always been able to appreciate Thomas’ attractiveness from an objective point of view – in the same way that he knew lots of the actors on the big screen were considered handsome, and he agreed, but that didn’t mean he wanted to snog them. Did it? He finished his drink in the hopes it would clear things up a little bit. It didn’t. 

“Do you know,” said Samuel over the enthusiastic playing of the band, making Jimmy jump out of his musings, and he noticed Jonathan had also gotten up to join the dancing, leaving the two of them alone, “I’ve only met dear Thomas a handful of times – quite a bit over that season he was with Philip, and a time or two more over the years, when he’s been in London. He never struck me as a particularly happy type. Smug maybe, very pleased with himself, but not really happy. But he appears quite content tonight.” He grinned, eyes sparkling like a schoolboy’s. “Must be your doing, my dear boy.” 

Jimmy blinked stupidly at him. It was true; Thomas had been smiling a lot more in the past year or so, but then that was hardly surprising, considering the mess things between them had been before. It was humbling, and just a little frightening, to know he had caused such a change in such a man. Yes,” he said, his voice hoarser than he’d expected, “I suppose it must be.”

“Treat him well, my dear,” Samuel said. “God knows we all need it, from time to time.”

The others staggered back over when the song ended, and piled back into the booth. Thomas’ breathing was a little fast; Jimmy could see the rising of his chest, feel his quick breath on his neck. Without really meaning to, Jimmy leant against him. He smelt wonderful; his stupidly expensive woodsy cologne, and booze and smoke and sweat from the dancing and heat of the room, and Jimmy could feel the warmth coming off him. And he was gorgeous, Jimmy wasn’t even going to bother denying it, and he was sharp and funny and Jimmy’s best mate, and everything else besides. Would Jimmy have even been there in the stupidly bloody lavender bar in the first place if Thomas wasn’t so important to him? 

He hadn’t been paying attention to the chat, but he dimly registered someone referring to him as ‘Thomas’ boy.’ He was annoyed about it for a fuggy moment or two, but then decided that the thought of belonging to Mr Barrow in some way was actually quite – well he wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but it made his stomach shift and drop in a way not entirely unpleasant. Barely knowing what he was doing but positive he wanted to do it, he reached under the table, searching for Thomas’ hand. It was his left that he found, curling his fingers around the skin and worn leather at Thomas’ wrist, pulling his hand up so it rested on Jimmy’s thigh.  
Though he’d put it there himself, Jimmy still flinched at the weight of Thomas’ hand on his body. It felt strange; his hand larger and heavier than any of the girls he’d talked into a tumble before, but it was better, making something spark and unfurl in his chest in a way it hadn’t done in any of his previous unremarkable encounters. He looked up to see Thomas frowning at him, eyes slightly unfocused and looking as though he suspected it was all some kind of joke. Jimmy’d never taken anything more seriously in his life. 

“What are you doing?” Thomas asked. Or at least that’s what Jimmy thought he said; his voice was low and all the rest of the noise of the club muted him. He glanced down under the table at where Jimmy had placed his hand, then back up to his face, as though trying to figure out some great riddle. When Jimmy didn’t answer, Thomas gave him a sour look and moved his hand away, reaching for his drink. Jimmy wasn’t bloody having it.  
He was faintly aware of Samuel asking him a question, but he ignored it, and reached across, his hand shaking against his will, and placed it deliberately on Thomas’ leg. Thomas shot him a look that Jimmy couldn’t read – it was hopeless, honestly. Despite the time they spent together, he still couldn’t always figure out what the bloody hell Thomas was thinking, even when it was written all over his face. So he looked away, nodding along politely to some anecdote of Jonathan’s, as he ran his fingertips along the inside of Thomas’ thigh. He felt the muscles twitch and tense under his touch, and he rubbed little circles with his thumb as he moved higher. Thomas was still valiantly trying to join in with the conversation, though he stopped mid-sentence when Jimmy’s hand cupped between his legs. Jimmy began to stroke at him through the fabric, clumsy with drink and heady with the thrill of it, as Thomas shifted under his touch. He could feel him better now, the hard outline of Thomas’ cock through his trousers, a sensation that once may have sent him running for the hills, but now only made him want more. And if the strangled noise Thomas made into his champagne flute was anything to go by, it was having a similar effect on him.

“Thomas?” Samuel asked, over the din of the club, “are you alright, dear fellow?”

“Y – yes,” Thomas choked out, the flush across his cheeks deeper than ever as Jimmy continued his ministrations, “just fine, thanks.” 

“Well you certainly don’t look it,” Samuel frowned, “perhaps you should step outside for some air.” Jonathan smirked, his eyes following the movements of Jimmy’s hand below the table, as he leant to whisper something in Samuel’s ear. “Ah, I see,” he said with a roguish grin. “Yes, I really must protest. You two young things don’t want to be stuck with the likes of us all evening, what? Off with the pair of you,” he made a shooing motion with his hands in a way that was disturbingly similar to Mrs Patmore. “But do come and see us again before you head back north, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Thomas said, a little more smoothly as he stood, knocking Jimmy’s hand away and tactfully draping an arm over his front.

“It’s been wonderful to meet you all,” said Jimmy, only slightly sarcastic, and with a considerable amount more cheer than he would have if he hadn’t been a bit squiffy, and more concerned with thoughts of sticking his tongue down Thomas’ throat than maintaining a distant demeanour.

There followed the expected chorus of ‘goodnight’s and hand shaking, and the none too subtle farewell call of “Don’t wear each other out, now” from Hetty as they wound their way to the door. 

They picked up their coats in a bit of a daze. Jimmy’s throat was dry, a sensation that only worsened when he noticed Thomas seemed to be having a similar problem. He kept swallowing, and Jimmy’s eyes would follow the lines of his throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple. They just about made it to the alleyway at the side of the club before Jimmy lost his head completely, and shoved Thomas up against the dirty bricks, kissing him hard and clutching at his shoulders. 

“Jimmy,” he felt Thomas mumble under his lips. But no, he didn’t want to talk. He wanted to ride in the heat of the moment, before Thomas could try to apologise again, attempt to explain away the evening or break the spell that Jimmy has somehow fallen into over the last few hours, so gradually he’d barely noticed. He didn’t want the spell to be broken. So he took a chance and pushed his tongue between Thomas’ maddeningly soft lips, which parted without hesitation. Thomas’ hand crept up under Jimmy’s jacket to rest at the small of his back, his palm warm through the thin material of his shirt. 

“Jimmy…”

“Mm..”

“Jimmy, wait a minute.”

“Ugh, what?” he acquiesced and drew back, eyes immediately dropping to the slick pinkness of Thomas’ mouth.

“Not that this isn’t lovely, but what the bloody hell are you doing? Years of ‘best mates’ talk, and now this?” he waved his hand between them in a futile gesture attempting to capture the daunting rush of feeling Jimmy had for him. “You don’t like… men.”

“Maybe not,” Jimmy sniffed, “but I like you.”

Thomas still didn’t look convinced. “Jimmy – “ 

Jimmy slumped and groaned in frustration. “Thomas, I really can’t talk about this yet. Least of all right now, bloody hell” he shook his head, and tried to find the right words, thoughts dulled by drink, the smell of Thomas’ skin, and the blood rushing to his cock. “Can’t it just be enough that I’m here, and I want to do this? Please?”

“You’re sure? I- I can’t if you’re not sure.” 

“Yes I’m bloody sure, stop being so damned careful, it’s frustrating. Please.” 

Thomas didn’t say anything more, just nodded once, and swallowed, Jimmy’s eyes following the clench of his jaw, the tightening and relaxing of his throat as he did so. Before his brain could catch up with his body, Jimmy’s lips were tracing the skin of Thomas’ neck, the slight rasp of stubble under his tongue more delicious than he ever could have guessed. His teeth caught Thomas’ jaw, by accident really, but it seemed to flick some switch in Thomas; and he all but growled, taking Jimmy’s face between his hands and pressing their lips together, hard and gracelessly. Once he got over the surprise and sheer pleasure of the thing, Jimmy opened his mouth for him, letting Thomas’ clever tongue trace his own. Fuck. He’d never met a girl who kissed like that. Come to think of it, he’d never bothered to kiss anyone like that either. And he was desperate for more. There was some hazy notion at the back of his mind that it felt too wonderful to be real, and that at any moment Thomas would shove him away, or disappear like at the end of some unsatisfactory dream, and he must make every moment count just in case it would be the last.  
The length of time that they stood kissing fervently against the dirty bricks of the alleyway became something immeasurable. It was as though nothing existed but the points at which their bodies connected; their mouths, Thomas’ ruined hand on the small of Jimmy’s back and the other splayed at the back of his neck, Jimmy’s hands holding Thomas’ hips to the wall, and their legs… Jimmy had no idea how long he’d been rubbing himself up against Thomas’ thigh, but when he realised he was doing so he stopped, embarrassed despite his enthusiasm. In shifting himself back slightly, he felt Thomas’ erection against his own leg. It was something of a thrill, to know it was because of him. 

“Touch me. I need you to.” Jimmy’s voice didn’t sound like his own.

“Alright.” Thomas, on the other hand, sounded exactly like himself, and Jimmy didn’t think he’d ever be able to listen to the man speak again, in the servants’ hall or smoking in the yard, without thinking of this very moment.

As Thomas ran his fingers lightly over Jimmy’s cock, Jimmy found he couldn’t quite remember why they hadn’t done this before. The reasons must have been good ones, surely, and he was certain in the morning they’d resurface and hit him like a tonne of bricks, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, there was Thomas’ hand around his cock, Thomas’ breath hot on his neck, Thomas’ erection against Jimmy’s thigh, Thomas looking at him was though he were more important than the air they breathed, Thomas’ lips, full and pink from the cold and their kisses, Thomas.

“Ah, Thomas. I – it’s so – “ his voice was embarrassingly breathy. He swallowed, though honestly it probably wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference. 

“I know.” 

Somewhat belatedly, Jimmy realised his hands were doing nothing more productive than clutching at Thomas’ shoulders. Quite frankly, it seemed wasteful. Driven by want more than logic, Jimmy reached a hand down, choosing to ignore how unsteady it was, to palm at Thomas’ through his trousers. 

“Ah, Christ. Jimmy…” he felt Thomas cant his hips up into his touch, and along with another rush of desire, there was the strange sense of pride, and of wonder, that he could have this effect on Thomas. It had never been any great secret of course, that Thomas felt that way about him, but to have the physical proof of it in his hand was something else. Thomas ducked his head to kiss along Jimmy’s neck, with a sort of calm Jimmy was envious of, when he was so torn asunder. His lips brushed Jimmy’s ear as he spoke his name, low and unsteady.

“Jimmy…”

The rumble of his voice against Jimmy’s chest accompanied by a particularly clever twist of his fingers just about finished Jimmy off. 

“Ugh, fucking hell…” his whole body jolted; he was surprised he managed to stay standing as pleasure rolled through him, an embarrassing whine escaping from the back of his throat. He felt Thomas stiffen too, his cock pulse in Jimmy’s hand, though he somehow stayed silent as he came. 

Before their breathing had returned to normal, Thomas was straightening his clothes. 

They got a taxi back to the townhouse, barely exchanging a word as they wound through the streets, besides necessities about the fare and such. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, just that nothing seemed the right thing to say.  
When they clambered out of the car, the two didn’t say goodnight, not outside the door, nor in the kitchen, nor the men’s quarters. Instead, Jimmy followed Thomas right into his room. Door safely shut behind them, Jimmy wordlessly began to strip off his clothes, still holding the chill of the evening. He winced a little as he stepped out of his underwear – not because of Thomas’ scrutiny, but because of the evidence of their earlier tryst still clinging to them – and flung back the sheets of Thomas’ bed, climbing under the covers. He looked expectantly to Thomas, who looked as though he couldn’t figure out whether to be pleased or annoyed. Eventually, he followed Jimmy’s example, and climbed, nude, into the small bed. As he felt the warmth of Thomas’ chest along his back, tiredness crept its way into Jimmy’s head and through his limbs, and he fell asleep with Thomas’ arm around his middle, and a kiss pressed to his head.

*

“Well, you certainly let your hair down last night.”

“What?” Jimmy opened his eyes, immediately shutting them again with a wince when he realised they’d neglected to draw the curtains last night, and the small bedroom was flooded with early morning sunlight. “Ugh, bollocks. What time is it?”

“We’ve got a little while yet,” he heard Thomas say from somewhere above him. “You’re still here then.”

The strangeness of the comment made Jimmy pry open his eyes, and he blinked groggily at Thomas, still stretched out next to him, though their bodies weren’t touching. His first coherent thought was that he’d quite like them to be, but it was far too early in the morning for anything so… exuberant. “What?”

“I thought you’d be gone as soon as the sun was up.” Thomas had been looking out of the window, over the rooftops still shrouded in light morning mist. “Or rather, as soon as you sobered up.”

“I wasn’t very drunk.” Jimmy tried to keep the indignation out of his voice – Thomas had had far more to drink than him, thank you very much.

“No?” Thomas raised his eyebrow with a disbelieving pout that Jimmy had the unnerving urge to kiss away. 

“I were a bit tiddly, yes,” he looked up, and made himself keep eye contact as he spoke, “but I knew well enough what I were doing, Thomas.” 

“Right,” Thomas shifted his weight on the bed, and Jimmy’s eyes drifted to his uncovered chest; the broadness of it, the dark hair… he swallowed. They’d remained clothed when they… were together last night. Or at least until they got back home, and all they’d done then was sleep. There was so much more. Jimmy felt a strange, heady nervousness; anticipation and want and worry all at once. “So, what exactly is this then?”

“I don’t know,” said Jimmy, largely because it was true, but also because it bought him more time before he really had to think about it himself. That was partly the drink’s fault, he supposed. He hadn’t thought much past the selfish notion of taking what he’d wanted at the time. Though he found, even in the unforgiving light of day, that he still wanted it now. It was a lot to think about. “I do want you Thomas,” his eyes flicked down without meaning to, “even now. But it’s just a bit new, I suppose. I – I’m not quite sure what to do with it.” 

There were any number of things Thomas could have said. He could have raged at Jimmy for all the trouble between them years back, he could have showered him with endearments and adoration and silly, soppy stuff, he could have asked how long he’d felt this way, or why he even deigned to go to the club with him last night. But he didn’t. All he did was nod, and reach for the pack of expensive smokes Samuel had given him the night before. “Ready to talk about it?”

“No,” Jimmy turned his face into the pillow so Thomas wouldn’t see the smile creep across his face. “Not yet. But between you and me, I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere.”


End file.
